If Only
by InsanityAllowance
Summary: Someone has managed to breach Sherlock's defences, leaving him feeling off-balance and uncertain. Perhaps the time has come to explore a new side of life? Sherlock/OC
1. Reminiscing

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it was probably created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC's talented Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**Author's note:** So they've finally shown the series here in Australia. This scene has been rattling around my head for the past week, so I finally gave in and wrote it. I may continue with this if you guys like it, so let me know what you think.

* * *

If only he hadn't invited her to join them at the cafe that day. He hadn't intended to do it, had intended to just thank her for her help. She had helped too, listening in on their conversation from the next table and eventually leaning over to suggest a facet they hadn't been considering. He'd been too excited to be offended. He'd known there was something he was missing. Of course, he'd have come to it eventually, but this dropped him neatly into the meat of the problem.

Then she smiled at him, and he felt like someone had just punched him in the chest. So he asked her to move her chair and meal to their table, ignored the startled look on John's face, and started explaining to them both the conclusions her suggestion had lead him to. Seeing John look impressed by his skill was gratifying as always. Seeing the same look on her...

If only he hadn't invited her back to the flat to show her some of the data they'd gathered on the case. She'd followed his reasoning better than most people did on their first meeting with him, though, and he couldn't resist showing off a little more. He'd watched her eyes dart around the room, an odd smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she spotted the skull on the mantle. He'd asked what she was thinking, and she'd replied, "Alas, poor Yorick?" He'd never even considered giving the skull a name, but he was fairly certain that now it was going to be impossible not to think of it as Yorick.

She'd perched on the edge of the desk, legs swinging and hair shining like polished copper in the firelight, and listened avidly as he'd shown the papers and cuttings he and John had collected and explained their significance. John had kept shooting him amused looks over the top of his screen. He hadn't seen what there was to be amused about, though. It was just so rare to find someone else interested in what he did and how he did it. Come to think of it, John was the only other person who had ever shown this sort of interest. And it was always fun to have a new audience.

If only he hadn't agreed when she asked if she could call again the next day to see how they were getting on. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. He found that he enjoyed her visits though. She'd drop in after work and the three of them would talk over the day's developments for a while. Then the conversation would drift off onto other topics of varying breadth and depth. One night he'd had a breakthrough and had dragged her out with himself and John to have another look at the back yard of a house they'd been to that day. The fact that she was just as eager as they were to climb over the wall impressed him. The fact that she was too short to reach and needed him to haul her up by the wrists amused him.

He'd even found himself texting her during the day when he'd made a particularly brilliant discovery. Only once or twice, but John had caught him at it and teased him about it. John teasing him didn't bother him. Not having an adequate comeback did, so he had decided to ignore it and hope it went away. It was easier than trying to explain how much the excited text he'd get in response pleased him. He wasn't sure he understood it himself.

If only he'd managed to ignore the teasing comments she'd make now and then. The sort of comments he usually could ignore easily, or at least think of a scathing response to. The first had come when he'd asked if she often eavesdropped on people when she was out. She'd blushed and shaken her head, then admitted that the only reason she'd been listening was because of his voice. He'd been confused as to the relevance of this and asked her to clarify, and she'd looked at him as if he'd grown another head and said, "Sherlock, you could be reading the damn phonebook and I'd still be more than happy to listen to you for a couple of hours!" John insisted that he'd blushed in response, but he refused to believe that.

Then there was the time when she'd referred to him in an offhand manner as "tall, dark and handsome". He'd grown more used to her banter by this time and so had given her a winning smile and asked if she really thought he was handsome. She'd fluttered her eyelashes outrageously at him and gushed, "Oh, you're absolutely dreamy, sweetheart!" John insisted he'd blushed at that one too, insufferable man that he was.

If only he hadn't started to return the flirting. It had been a fun side-thread to run while he worked through the case - each of them trying to outdo the other. It was a challenge, and he could never resist a challenge. Surprising how natural it had started to feel, though. He'd always considered that sort of behaviour merely a means to an end. Women often reacted more favourably after a few sweet words and suggestive looks, were more inclined to open their thoughts for him to pick through.

Somehow, though, it was different when the means was the end. When it was just for fun. He'd enjoyed being able to surprise her, enjoyed seeing her eyes widen in shock for that fraction of an instant before she regained control of herself and came back with a laughing response. She had a beautiful laugh, too, not harsh and grating or an annoying giggle.

If only he hadn't let himself lose that emotional detachment he was usually so careful to maintain. If he'd recognised the danger in his constant need to impress her, his pleasure in talking with her and teasing her, the fact that even after almost a week her smile still made him feel like he'd been punched.

If he'd had the foresight (or, to be brutally honest with himself, the strength) to walk away from her sooner, he wouldn't be sitting beside John in a cab and staring at a text which gave an address and finished with: _I have your girl_.


	2. Hostage

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it was probably created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC's talented Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**Author's note:** Well, thank you for all the encouragement to continue this story. Really glad you guys are enjoying my ramblings. I'm not as certain about the quality of this chapter – it doesn't seem to flow as well, and seems... incomplete somehow. Not entirely sure why though. Constructive criticism gratefully accepted.

* * *

"I'd wondered if you'd actually come. You have a reputation as a cold, heartless bastard, but watching the two of you together this last week, I'd wondered."

Sherlock held himself still as the man they'd been pursuing for more than a week stepped out of the shadow of a stack of crates. He prided himself on keeping his gaze dispassionate at the sight of the woman dragged forward as well, although he heard John's horrified gasp beside him. He ran his eyes over the pair of them.

The man was known amongst the criminal fraternity simply as "Mack". He was a smuggler, a money launderer, and occasionally an assassin. That last was what had pulled Sherlock and John onto the case, with several government officials dying in creative and tortuous ways. It had taken quite a bit of digging and the calling in of several favours, but he'd finally managed to determine whose _modus operandi_ the killings were in. Mack was around the same height as John, but more heavily built and with little neck. A diamond stud sparkled in one ear, and his suit was obviously well-tailored. For all that he looked like a thug, he was obviously possessed of a certain amount of vanity. Perhaps that could be useful?

One large, meaty hand was clenched around the upper arm of the young woman Sherlock had allowed to creep past the barriers he usually kept between himself and the world. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and she looked even smaller beside the muscled hulk who had captured her. Frail, even. Her clothing was torn and dirty and the dark smudges of newly-formed bruises at her throat suggested that she'd been choked into submission. His breath caught as he noted the gun barrel pressed firmly against her temple.

"Seona..." He whispered her name, too softly to carry over the distance. Yet she raised her eyes to meet his for just a moment. He could see the tears sparkling in them, but also an apology. She thought she'd let him down. He swallowed the bitter laugh that welled up in his throat at that realisation, and instead replied in his usual tone of barely-veiled boredom, "You've been watching me, then. I'm impressed. I hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary."

Mack grinned, showing a couple of gold teeth. "What can I say? I'm good. So are you, though. That's why I had to find a way to stop you poking your nose where it didn't belong. Originally planned to take your friend there." He nodded his head towards John, who tensed but said nothing. "Changed my mind, though. This one's prettier though, and far more... entertaining."

A slight tightening of the jaw was all that Sherlock allowed himself. He wouldn't - couldn't - think about the implications of that statement. Not yet. "So let me guess," he drawled. "I agree to drop my line of investigation into the recent murders, and you release the young lady and we all go on our merry way. Is that the idea?"

He could feel the heat of John's glare but didn't dare break eye contact with Mack. He'd explain to John later, when this was all over. He hoped.

His opponent shook his head with a mocking smile. "Oh no, Sherlock. Not up to your usual standard, are you? A touch distracted perhaps?" He chuckled roughly and jerked his captive closer to him, laughing again as she struggled to keep her balance. "You're going to drop your 'line of investigation', as you so charmingly put it, and I'm going to walk away with my new little friend here. I've grown quite fond of her, you see."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Well, then no one gets a happy ending, do they?" Mack pressed the gun barrel deeply into the side of her head. "You try anything stupid right here and now, I shoot her. After we walk away, if I find that you're still on the hunt, I shoot her. Hell, maybe I'll shoot her anyway, eventually. When I get tired of her. But play your cards right and you can at least go to sleep at night with the knowledge that she's alive and well _somewhere_."

Sherlock snorted. "Alive, perhaps, but I doubt it fits anyone else's definition of 'well'." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her raise her head to look at him again. Instead of the sorrow or reproach he was expecting (he was, after all, apparently humouring the man), he saw calm resignation. Then she slowly winked at him.

A bolt of raw emotion sliced through him as he thought of all the possibilities that she might be considering. The fact that he couldn't predict exactly what she had planned distressed him. John's breathing stilled for a moment, which meant that he'd seen it too and was preparing for whatever might happen.

What happened a moment later was that Seona went limp against Mack's side, folding up as if in a dead faint. The man's grip on his gun slackened as his arm came down to catch her weight. That was all the cue the two friends needed. They both rushed forward, John to snatch her out of harm's way and he to tackle Mack to the ground. Physical altercations were something he usually saw as an occasional necessity, but this time he felt a surge of satisfaction as his fist connected solidly with the man's jaw.

Mack was a brawler, though, and probably close to twice Sherlock's bulk. Good as the punch was, it didn't lay him out for the count and as the struggle continued it became clear that it was a fight the detective was unlikely to win without a hefty dose of luck.

That luck came in the sound of a sharp click a few moments later. Mack froze as he felt the metal of his dropped gun pressed against the back of his neck. "Get off him now." John's words were quietly spoken, but the tone suggested that while arguing might be an option it would be a rather short-lived one. As would be the person doing the arguing. Mack hesitated for a fraction of a second, then rolled aside.

John kept the gun in position as Sherlock twisted to his feet and looked for Seona. She was standing a few feet away and holding out the cuffs that had been around her wrists. "You might find these useful," she said with a wry smile. He raked his gaze over her, pleased to see that while she was paler than usual she didn't seem to be injured too badly. She seemed to be holding together, too, rather than collapsing into hysterics, which also impressed him.

He took the cuffs from her with a grin, then swooped down on Mack to haul his arms roughly behind his back. The man started to struggle, but John pressed the gun barrel more firmly against him and murmured, "I wouldn't." Mack didn't. The cuffs closed with a reassuring snap.

Sherlock pulled out his phone. Within moments he'd mobilised the police to come and arrest the assassin and wrap up the case. "Where's the key?" he asked John as she slipped the phone back into his coat pocket.

"What key?" John looked puzzled and Sherlock suppressed a sigh of frustration. Why were people so slow?

"They key you used to unlock the cuffs! I daresay the police will be wanting it when they take him into custody."

"I didn't unlock the cuffs." His gaze locked with John's for a moment as they both considered the implications of this, then turned to look at Seona.

She rubbed at the raw skin on her wrists and gave them an unsure-but-game smile. "Would it completely ruin your opinion of me if I admitted that I've had experience getting out of handcuffs?"

Still riding high on the adrenalin of the last few minutes, Sherlock studied her for a moment and then burst out laughing. John joined him a moment later. "No, no it wouldn't," he assured her, bounding forward to grasp her lightly by the shoulders. "But I will be asking you for the story at some point."

She regarded him silently for a few moments, then grinned. "I might even oblige you," she replied with a raspy chuckle, which turned into a cough. Raising a hand to her throat, she added, "Possibly not tonight though. Tonight I want a drink. Possibly a very large drink." Despite his careful observation, he was fairly sure he wouldn't have detected the faint shudder than ran through her if not for his hands on her shoulders.

"Well, we still have those two bottles of wine you were sent after the last case," John suggested as he came up to stand beside them. He left the sentence hanging, but his look was expectant.

Sherlock nodded, a small smile quirking the corner of his mouth at his friend's transparency. For once, however, he wouldn't call it since it coincided with his own decision. "Brilliant. We'll deliver this sorry piece of humanity to the Yard's finest," - he glanced disparagingly at the bound man on the floor a few feet away - "then we'll all head back to Baker Street for that drink. Maybe pick up some Chinese on the way."

Her hand shifted from massaging her throat to brush softly against one of his. "Thank you. Both of you." Her gaze shifted to John for an instant, then her head cocked as the faint sound of approaching sirens reached them. Glancing at the man who had taken her captive, she chewed on her lower lip for a moment. "He's probably got a few bruises, between my struggling and the fight you two just had, right?" Sherlock nodded, his lips twitching as he anticipated the line her thought had taken. Sure enough, she asked, "So one more wouldn't really be noticeable, right?"

John's eyes widened slightly as he realised what she was asking, then he turned away with a cough that clearly masked a chuckle. "Shall we go and meet the police, Sherlock?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild. With identical grins, the two men fell into step beside each other and headed for the door to the warehouse.

From behind them, they heard a muffled thud and a grunt and shared a grin as they waited for the police to arrive.


	3. After–Dinner Drinks

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it was probably created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC's talented Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**Author's note:** Sorry for the wait for this chapter. Serious case of writers' block on this one. I knew what I wanted to say, had whole swathes of conversation happening in my head, but somehow it just wasn't working when I typed it up. Still not 100% happy with it, but I've been tinkering with it for days and if I don't just bite the bullet and post it I never will! Constructive criticism gratefully appreciated.

* * *

The three of them had been back at the flat for about an hour. Boxes from the Chinese take-away were scattered across the table and they were already onto the second bottle of wine. The fire was warm and the conversation entertaining, but Sherlock found that he just couldn't relax. It wasn't the usual restlessness that beset him at the end of a case, knowing that he no longer had anything to focus his mind on. This time he did have something to focus on, but he wasn't sure he liked it.

Images from the afternoon's stand-off kept replaying in his mind's eye. The look on Seona's face just before she'd 'collapsed', the way she'd winked at him. The way Mack had been holding her against his side. The way he'd moved to catch her as she fell, losing his grip on the gun.

"He could have shot you." Seona paused in her animated description of a concert she'd recently attended as his words cut harshly across her. Her look was puzzled and he made an impatient gesture. "When you pretended to faint today. What made you think he wouldn't just pull that trigger, accidentally or otherwise?" He could feel John staring at him in surprise, but he kept his focus on the young woman curled up on the sofa.

She tilted her head to one side for a moment while she considered the question, then shook her head sharply. "No, he wasn't likely to shoot me. For all his talk there about killing me, he wanted me alive. Despite the bruises he gave me trying to make me stop hitting him, he was surprisingly solicitous of my health." She shrugged one shoulder and took a sip of her wine. "There wasn't much either of you could do while he had the gun to my head. I figured giving him a reason to remove it was worth the risk."

Sherlock tipped his own glass towards her in acknowledgement. "Your actions certainly did... expedite matters. But the risk to yourself was still substantial." A part of his mind wondered why he couldn't let this go, even as he added, "I hadn't suspected you of such callousness towards your own welfare."

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "He _fancied _me," she muttered. "That's why he took me instead of John, not because he thought it would get a better reaction from you." She drained the rest of her glass and set it on the table beside her. "Horrible man. Needs to learn that 'no' doesn't mean 'yes please'."

John jumped in before Sherlock had a chance to fully digest that statement. "He didn't..." The question trailed off, but she shook her head.

"No, it didn't go that far. Bit of groping, bit of dirty talk. Enough to make me want to wash, not enough to do any lasting damage. Although I'll admit I'll be happier to know he's locked away somewhere." She tipped her head back against the sofa, running her hands back through her hair, then sat up and looked at the two of them intently. "I did thank you both, didn't I? For coming to get me?"

"You did," John replied with a smile. "But I can understand the way you're feeling. I've been the victim of a few kidnappings myself in the year I've lived here."

Sherlock was about to add his own assurances when she tipped her head back with a peal of laughter. "Ah, that you have," she gasped, turning her face towards John but watching the detective out of the corner of her eye. "He's obviously a dangerous man to know, our Mr Holmes." He froze. _Our_? A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he caught her gaze and held it, one eyebrow raised in question. Colour flooded her cheeks. "I... that is... I mean..." Her hands twisted together in her lap as she struggled to find something to say. Finally she shot him an exasperated look and snapped, "Oh, damn it all, Sherlock, this is you. You probably know exactly what I mean!"

John and Sherlock both collapsed in fits of laughter. After a moment, Seona joined in. It was several minutes before they managed to bring themselves back under control enough to speak, and the laughter had cleared the last of the tension from the air. John pushed himself to his feet. "Well, on that note I think I'm going to head off to bed. Good night, you two." Still chuckling quietly to himself, he passed through the kitchen to deposit his glass in the sink before heading for the stairs.

Seona murmured her own goodnight as he passed, then glanced at Sherlock as she prepared to rise. There was uncertainty in her eyes, though, and the realisation hit him that he didn't want her to leave. Not yet. He put out his hand to grab the wine bottle from the table. "One more glass to help me finish the bottle?" he invited.

Her warm smile reassured him even before she picked up her glass and held it out for him to fill. "Gladly," she murmured. "Thank you." He filled both their glasses and settled back in his chair, thoughts racing. What could he say to her? That he wanted their association to continue now that the case was over? Too clinical, and for once he didn't want to retreat into bare facts. That the thought of her walking out of his life as suddenly as she'd walked into it made him feel ill? She'd think he was daft, and somewhere along the way she'd become the second person in his life whose opinion of him mattered. How did _normal _people manage this sort of thing?

Her eyes had been fixed on the fire as she sipped at her wine, but now they shifted to him as she licked her lips. The motion caught his attention and he almost didn't register when she said hesitantly, "Sherlock, can I ask you a favour?" He nodded. "Would you be willing to... keep in touch? I've really enjoyed the evenings we've spent together this last week, and I really don't want to give that up completely. Even just meeting for the occasional dinner or coffee would be fine. I know that... well, John said you didn't have any interest in... well, a _relationship_... and I can accept that. I just want to be able to talk to you occasionally, and... and I'm babbling now so I'll just shut up." Her eyes dropped to the glass clasped between her hands, her cheeks flaming almost as bright as her hair.

He had sat dumbfounded through her whole speech from the moment she had asked if they could keep in touch. That she didn't want to see this chapter close completely either had never occurred to him. Perhaps John was right, that for all his genius and skill at reading people there were still some areas where he was woefully under-informed. Then the significance of the last part hit him. John had said he wasn't interested in a relationship. She had asked John about him. And if she could accept it, that meant...

Sherlock's mouth was dry and he had to swallow hard before he was able to speak. "And if I said that I was interested in... a relationship?" He winced slightly at how rough his voice sounded and wondered if he'd just started something he would regret. A part of him didn't care, though.

Her head snapped up at the question and the smile blooming on her face set his heart racing. "Then I'd consider myself more fortunate that I ever expected," she replied softly.

Unable to sit still any longer, he flung himself out of the chair and started pacing in front of the fireplace. "I'm not an easy man to know," he cautioned her, even as a little voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to shut up. "I've often been accused of being selfish and overbearing and inconsiderate of other people's thoughts and feelings."

Her eyes tracked him as he paced. "And yet you warn me, rather than just taking advantage of the situation for your own gratification," she mused, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I think you care more for other people than you let on."

He shook his head with a wry gin. "Not usually. You're just on an extremely select list."

"I'm flattered," she chuckled as she set her glass aside and twisted gracefully to her feet. He was unable to move as he watched her approach him, and not entirely sure he wanted to. She raised one slim hand and laid it along his cheek. "You're a brilliant man, Sherlock. I'd be more than willing to put up with your personal quirks just for the pleasure of knowing you. For the sake of something more..." She smiled and shrugged.

Her skin was warm against his. Without consciously deciding to, he found himself turning his head to place a soft kiss against her palm. The soft shiver that went through her gave him an odd thrill. He intended to analyse the emotion, examine it and try to determine what it meant, but Seona raised herself up on her toes and brushed her lips softly against his.

It was like an electric jolt. His mind froze, his breath caught in his throat, and it was all he could to to keep on his feet. She started to pull away after a moment but he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers with bruising force. The small part of his mind that was still functioning coherently was insisting that he should be more gentle. Then her felt her hand slide around to the back of his head and tangle in his hair, felt her lips curve in a smile against him. Since she obviously wasn't complaining, he abandoned that line of thought.

The need for a full breath forced them reluctantly apart after a few minutes. Wondering if he looked as dazed as he felt, Sherlock looked down into the laughing green eyes a few inches from his own. He wasn't sure he liked the fact that something in the situation had amused her, but couldn't seem to find the right words to frame the question. He settled instead for a raised eyebrow, hoping she'd take the hint.

She apparently did. Wrapping one of his curls around her finger and tugging gently, she said teasingly, "Either you're a very quick learner, my dear, or you haven't kept yourself as pure for science as John thinks you have."

Not what he'd expected. Not unflattering, either. With a shout of laughter he clutched her to him, lifting her off the ground and spinning them both in dizzying circles until her tripped and they ended up sprawled across his armchair in a tangle of limbs, both giggling like schoolkids. "You mean it can't be both?" he asked in mock-hurt tones. She laughed and shrugged, and he continued more seriously, "It is, you know. Both. I know the impression I've given John of never having any interest in... well, any sort of personal relationships. That doesn't mean I didn't experiment when I was a student. Trying to see what all the fuss was about." He gave her a broad grin. "I am a quick learner, though."

Seona returned the grin and dropped a quick kiss on the end of his nose. "I shouldn't have expected anything less from you, really. You seem to make a point of doing anything you do very well. Why should this be an exception?"

He chuckled and gave in to the temptation to kiss her again. When they parted for another breath, he said, "So... you asked John about my love-life?" She smacked him gently on the chest and buried her face in his shoulder with an embarrassed laugh.


	4. New Sensations

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it was probably created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC's talented Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**Author's note:** Wow, I hadn't realised how much time had gone by since my last update! Major apologies to everyone who's been waiting for this chapter. The dreaded Real Life threw me a couple of curves recently and my 'get up and go' got up and went. So thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourite and alerted this fic. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

It was the change in light that woke Sherlock. Even as he noted this, he was running a quick assessment of his situation. Sitting up, legs stretched out in front of him and trailing on the floor. He'd fallen asleep in his chair, then. Not that unusual. The weight against him, though _was _unusual. His eyes shot open as the memory of the evening's events came flooding back. Sure enough, Seona was snuggled against his chest, her mass of coppery hair cascading around them both. A smile tugged at his lips as she sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer to him.

A flicker of movement snapped his gaze towards the kitchen door, where John stood with a glass in his hand and a small smile on his face. Sherlock raised a finger to his lips. "Don't wake her," he murmured.

"You're both going to be sore if you stay there all night," John replied quietly, still smiling.

"Too late." Sherlock winced as he tried to shift carefully, the muscles in his back protesting. John just grinned at him from the doorway, and it was perfectly obvious what the doctor was dying to say. He sighed. "If I admit that you were right, will you go away?" he asked testily, although he couldn't quite keep an answering smile from his own face.

John raised his glass of water in mocking salute and snapped the light off before disappearing back into the stairwell.

Sherlock looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms again and gave her a little shake. "Time to wake up, I'm afraid," he whispered, placing a soft kiss on her hair. He grinned when she shook her head and burrowed deeper against him, then shook her again. "If we don't get up, I suspect neither of us are going to be able to walk tomorrow."

This got a slightly better response. Seona rolled slightly so she could look up at him, wincing as she did so. "Too late," she muttered, which made him laugh. She blinked sleepily at him for a moment, then returned his smile. "Awkward position aside, this is a rather nice way to wake up," she added, shifting against him to give him a kiss.

The feel of her body made it difficult to concentrate on much else, but insofar as he was currently capable of any sort of reasoning he found that he agreed with her one hundred percent. Reason was swiftly being overtaken, however, by the unfamiliar stirrings in his own body that he had been noticing at odd moments throughout the week. It was stronger now, although no less confusing. Had anybody ever drawn such a primal, physical response from him? He didn't think so.

"Will you stay with me?" The words slipped out before he could stop them and he winced inwardly at the hesitant, pleading note in his voice.

Seona pulled back slightly to regard him silently for a moment. He found that he was holding his breath until she smiled and gave him another kiss. "Yes," she said. Just that one word, but there was such a wealth of emotion in it that he felt light-headed. She knew what he was asking, and somehow knew exactly how out of his usual character it was for him to ask. In return, she let him know that she accepted him and wanted him in the same way.

He couldn't remember ever feeling so... happy? The word didn't seem strong enough for all the emotions he was experiencing, but he couldn't think of a better one. Thinking could wait, though. For once, thinking was actually the boring alternative.

A deft twist propelled them both to their feet. He looked down at her, marvelling again at how tiny she was in comparison - her head barely reached his shoulder and she'd cocked it to one side to look up at him. She was obviously having similar thoughts, as she grinned and said, "I think I liked it better when we were sitting down."

He chuckled. "Let's do something about that, then." A gentle tug on her hand directed her towards the door to the sitting room and out into the hallway. He pushed open the opposite door and led her into his bedroom.

She paused on the threshold and looked around. Sherlock noted her interest and waited, remembering that she'd done something similar the first time they'd brought her back to the flat. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the barely-restrained chaos similar to that of the sitting room, with piles of papers and books stacked in odd places, newspaper clippings and bits of police reports tacked to the wall. She glanced towards him and said, "Well, that answers that question. I figured your bedroom would either be more of the same as out there, or completely sterile and un-lived-in."

"Well, you're right that it isn't terribly lived in," he replied with a laugh. He closed the gap between them and drew her further into the room, shutting the door behind her, then found himself hesitating.

The look Seona gave him was searching, considering, the sort of look he was used to turning on other people. There was a feeling of empathy in hers, though, which he was fairly sure wasn't in his. "Is this... is this the first time you've done this?" she asked quietly.

He grimaced and avoided her gaze. "No," he replied, unable to lift his voice above a whisper. "But it's the first time I've cared about the outcome." He swallowed hard. "I don't know what you like. I don't even know what I like! But I know I don't want to disappoint you."

Her smile was warm as she replied, "Then we'll learn together. You're hyper-observant, Sherlock. I don't think you're going to have any trouble figuring out what I like. What you like is my problem for me to figure out. And I seriously doubt you're going to disappoint me. I suspect you're going to approach this with the same single-minded focus and attention to detail you apply to everything else."

"That sounds like a challenge," he murmured, unable to resist the affectionate teasing in her voice. His nervousness hadn't disappeared entirely, but it faded a little at her words. She understood him, and maybe that would be enough.

She began to undo the buttons on his shirt, her nails running lightly over his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation. Their eyes met for a moment before she planted a swift kiss on his collarbone and pushed the shirt from his shoulders. This meant he had to remove his hands from their uncertain position at her waist to let the garment fall to the floor, but the movement galvanised him. He wasn't sure how best to go about it, but suddenly he wanted very much to reciprocate.

He started by returning his hands to her waist and slipping them under the soft, stretchy top she was wearing. The feeling of bare skin under his fingertips was pleasing, and seemed to be pleasing her too if her expression was anything to go by. He explored the sensation for a while as she stood with her hands flat against his chest, letting him get comfortable. Her top had inched its way up as he did so, and finally he tugged it sharply upwards. She lifted her arms as he did so, allowing him to slip it off her completely.

His breath caught as he looked at her standing there in her jeans and a simple bra of forest-green cotton. Somehow the fact that she didn't go in for lacy undergarments intrigued him. As did what was under said undergarments. Breathing still ragged, his hands moved almost of their own accord to trace over the newly-exposed flesh. He watched her as he did so, noting the changes in her own breathing, the small smile hovering at the corner of her mouth, the way that she leaned slightly into his touch.

Suddenly it was as if something snapped inside him. He pulled her to him roughly, mouth descending on hers, hands tangling in her hair. Her hands trailed hot paths up and down his back before she slipped one between them. This caused her body to pull away slightly from his and he couldn't contain a soft sound of disappointment. A moment later he felt the tug at his belt and gave her a startled look.

Seona's hand stilled. "Only if you want," she whispered.

Sherlock smiled and kissed her again. "I do," he whispered back. "I want..." He hesitated.

"What do you want?"

"You." He barely recognised his own voice. Barely recognised himself at this moment. He'd taught himself to ignore his body's urges many years ago, whether those urges were to do with eating, sleeping or any of the baser emotions that he'd noticed ran most people's lives for them. He'd always considered it a sign of his superiority to normal humanity. Now, he _ached_. It wasn't right to feel this way, surely - to feel as if someone had replaced all the blood in his body with something hotter that made him tingle. It was all her fault, he was sure of it.

In the brief time he'd allowed his thoughts to distract him, Seona had managed to get his belt undone. Now her fingers drifted lower to brush against the bulge in the front of his trousers. His breath hissed sharply between his teeth at the new sensation. An odd smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You have me, Sherlock." He barely registered the words at first, then he gave her a brilliant smile.

He was rewarded with an absolutely dazzling smile in response. Green eyes met grey in silence for a moment, then with a quick motion she unzipped his trousers and let them fall to his ankles. The smile turned decidedly impish as she placed one hand on his chest and gave him a gentle push towards the bed behind him. Her other hand was encouraging his boxers to follow the trousers.

"Lie back, Sherlock," she murmured. "Let me show you..."

"Show me what?" he asked, even as he automatically sank down onto the edge of the mattress. Her only answer was to lower herself to the floor in front of him and duck her head. A moment later and his mind went totally blank as she took him into her mouth. "Ohhhh..." His eyes widened in surprise and he let himself fall back. One hand wound itself into the hair spilling across his thighs, twitching spasmodically and not entirely under his control. The other dug into the bedclothes beside him.

He had no idea how long she worked on him with hands and lips and tongue. Time had no meaning in the small, private world he'd fallen into. It might have been five minutes or five years when the tension that had been slowly building inside him released with a sudden cry of "Oh fuck, yes!"

Dimly he was aware of her pulling away from him, the loss of her warmth feeling like an amputation. The mattress dipped as she levered herself up to sit beside him and ran a gentle hand through his hair. It was an effort to open his eyes, but the sight that greeted him was worth it. She was leaning over him, a look of tenderness on her face that he had never expected to see anyone aiming at him. What was even more amazing was that he'd never imagined wanting anyone to, and yet he felt a curious warming deep inside him as their gazes met.

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, but the silence was comfortable. Eventually, though, he became aware that their recent activity hadn't dulled his desire for her. If anything, that desire had sharpened. He broke eye contact and ran his eyes over as much of her body as he could see from his prone position. "You're wearing altogether too many clothes," he purred, and was rewarded with a startled laugh.

The surprise only lasted a moment, however. Seona flashed him a sultry smile and slipped off the bed. Sherlock rolled onto his side so he could keep watching her, using his feet to push his trousers, underwear and socks onto the floor. Luckily this was a fairly mechanical process that didn't require much concentration as his attention was firmly on the young woman standing beside him. She slipped her jeans over her hips and let them fall to the floor before stepping daintily out of them. Her knickers were black satin, which made him smile. She really _hadn't_ planned for this to happen, then, said the part of him that was constantly analysing the world - if she had she would most likely have co-ordinated her underwear.

Which wasn't to say that she wasn't intoxicatingly sexy in what she was wearing now, he acknowledged silently as she bent to slip off her stockings. The look she gave him as she straightened sent a shiver through him and he felt himself harden again in anticipation. He licked his lips as she removed first her bra and then her knickers, then moved closer to the bed.

His hand shot out to grab hers, pulling her down on top of him. Her breathless laugh as he rolled them towards the middle of the bed was cut off as their lips met in another searing kiss. Feeling her pressed against him like this was an exquisite kind of torture. Pinning her to the bed beneath him, he let his hands roam over her body and delighted in her pleased murmurs and the way she buried her face in the side of his neck.

She twined one leg around his. The warm wetness he felt as their hips ground together left him certain of what he wanted the next move to be, although he felt horribly clumsy and awkward as he tried to manoeuvre into the correct position. Thankfully a quick glance at Seona - dilated pupils, uneven breathing, hands clutching at his shoulders - suggested that she didn't share this opinion of his performance. A quiet part of his mind couldn't help feeling a little proud of that.

Sherlock found himself unable to think of much of anything after that. From the moment he slipped inside her he was afloat on a sea of pure sensation which defied any attempt he might have made to rationalise it. Admittedly, he wasn't trying very hard. For possibly the first time in his life, he surrendered to instinct and reaction. Somehow it didn't feel as threatening as the idea had always seemed to him.

Their movements grew more urgent and intense. She'd wrapped her legs around his waist at some point and her hands clutched at his shoulders. He could feel her nails digging into his flesh as the warmth surrounding him rippled and squeezed. Her inarticulate cry was joined by his own as he found his release for the second time. It was different this time, though - sweeter, somehow, knowing that she'd shared the intense pleasure of the experience.

He held himself suspended above her for a few moment while he tried to remember how to command his own muscles, then rolled to one side so that he fell beside her rather than on top of her. He pulled her towards him as he did so until they were lying nose to nose. She smiled at him and murmured, "That was... wow."

The laughter burst from him unexpectedly. "Wow indeed!" he gasped, darting forward to press a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. "Unexpectedly wow, in fact."

Seona regarded him with a grin, her green eyes dancing in the soft light. "I stand by my comment from earlier: you're an amazingly quick learner." She reached over to brush a sweat-soaked curl from his forehead as he gave her a mischievous smile.

"Ah, well, as to that, I still not sure that my technique is really where it should be. There may need to be other lessons..." He let the sentence dangle teasingly, even as a frantic little voice in the back of his mind asked what he would do if she had considered this just a one-night-stand.

She eased that worry with a quick laugh and a kiss. "Well," she drawled, matching his teasing tone, "I was always told that the best way to improve a skill was regular practise. And I have grown accustomed to spending most of my evenings in your company. I'm sure further lessons could be arranged."

He pulled her closer, tucking her head against his chest. As she wrapped her arms around him and twined her legs around one of his, he felt a rare quiet creep over him. He didn't know what this was that they were building, exactly, but he knew that it was important and that whatever it was, it was something he wanted. Tomorrow would be soon enough to figure it out in more detail. Lulled by the soft breathing of the woman in his arms, Sherlock finally let his mind relax into sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note #2:** Okay, so that was the first time I've written a sex scene. How did I do? Constructive critiques welcomed. :)


	5. Memories and Ruminations

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it was probably created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC's talented Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**Author's note:** Apologies for the delay. I'd hoped to get this chapter up before Christmas, but the Silly Season lived up to its name and reputation well and truly. I'm now back from my break and hopefully ready to get back into the swing of things. That said, this chapter is a little on the short side but it was the logical place to break it off.

* * *

For possibly the first time in his life, Sherlock made the transition from sleeping to waking gradually and gently. Usually the second he was even slightly conscious saw his brain snap into overdrive. This time, however, he took a moment to savour the warmth of the body curled beside him and the pleasant heaviness of his limbs. When he finally did open his eyes, he couldn't help smiling at the tangle of hair that all but hid the woman in his arms. As he gently brushed it away, he remembered their first meeting when she had challenged him to make some deductions about her.

_"I read both your sites," she explained, green eyes alight with interest. "What you do is absolutely fascinating!"_

_Sherlock smiled. "It's not that difficult if you just really think. It's a matter of seeing, not just looking, and knowing how to make the connections." He shot John an amused glance as the other man snorted._

_Seona gave him a challenging grin. "What would you say about me then?"_

_He eyed her curiously. He'd already formed a few basic ideas about her, the way he did about everyone he encountered, but he'd rarely come across someone who actually invited him to analyse them. So, what did he have? She was probably younger than him, and didn't wear much in the way of cosmetics. Her face was open and expressive, much like John's - she didn't try to hide her feelings from the world to any great degree. A mass of bright copper hair fell down her back, pinned on one side with a comb, and he was almost certain that the colour was natural (a certainty reinforced by the lack of other cosmetics)._

_With a perfectly serious expression, he began. "You're in your early or mid twenties, friendly and popular but currently single and have been for some time. A non-smoker, you keep yourself in good shape but don't obsessively watch what you eat." He glanced down at the plate of fish and chips in front of her briefly and she grinned in acknowledgement. "Your clothing is of good quality, although not slavishly following the latest fashions. A slightly alternative flair, which suggests an artistic role. Your comments earlier suggest that you're well at home with computers and the Internet, at more than just the superficial level most people have. I'd say a graphic designer, perhaps focusing on web design. The fingers of your right hand are calloused slightly in such a way that suggests you also play a stringed instrument of some sort." He paused and frowned. "The one thing I can't work out is where you're from. Your accent is not one I'm familiar with."_

_She laughed and clapped her hands in delight. "Don't be too worried about not picking my accent," she replied with a shake of her head. "It's not terribly intuitive. What it comes down to is that I'm from Australia, but don't quite have an Australian accent. Mum's Irish, Dad was Maltese, and I've been living in London for almost six months so the end result is very much a bitsa." She grinned and gave him a little bow from her chair. "You got everything else spot on, though. Very impressive. Looks like I'll have to try harder to be obscure."_

_John laughed along with him at that, but shook his head. "Pointless effort. I don't think anyone could be obscure enough for Sherlock not to be able to figure them out."_

Sherlock smiled as he acknowledged to himself that it wasn't quite true. Not in either case. John, for all that he seemed so ordinary and mundane at first glance, still had the capacity to surprise him with enjoyable regularity. It was a major factor in why he'd been willing to move their relationship beyond merely 'flatmates' into the heretofore uncharted territory of 'friends'. Now it appeared that he'd found someone else able to do the same. He wasn't sure what name to give this relationship, though. 'Friends' was likely true, but that didn't really cover all of it. Not any more. 'Lovers', perhaps, although that had such an overtone of trashy romantic novels to his mind that he inwardly winced.

Seona stirred against him and opened her eyes, giving him a sleepy smile. This gave way to puzzlement as she saw his contemplative expression. "Penny for 'em?" she murmured, her smile now uncertain.

He regarded her for a moment longer, then replied, "I'm trying to figure out where this is going. What it all means." Which wasn't exactly the whole truth, but he was curious to see how she might react. It could give him valuable clues as to how she viewed their developing relationship.

The flash of hurt in her eyes made him wonder if he'd made a mistake. Her voice, though, was steady and quiet. "It can mean whatever we decide to let it mean, Sherlock. I'm not going to demand a wedding ring from you just because we spent the night together. Last night was truly amazing, and I know we spoke about continuing to see each other, but if you've had a change of heart, if you'd rather I just left..." Now her voice did crack with emotion. He hastily pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"No, that's not what I meant," he assured her as he pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "Not at all. It's just that... I told you last night I had little experience with this sort of thing. We spoke of a number of things. Continuing to see each other as friends - I like that idea. You're actually interesting to talk to." He felt her lips curve in a small smile against his chest and took that as a good sign. "Then we spoke about a different sort of relationship. A closer relationship. I like that idea too, especially after the rest of what happened last night. And after that we spoke of continuing to spend the night together. Definitely like the sound of that. But what does all this mean? I don't know how I should be thinking of it. Of us."

She raised her head and studied him for a moment, then concluded for him, "And words like 'girlfriend' and 'boyfriend' sound too frivolous and dull for you to feel comfortable with."

He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. She was right. The words hadn't even crossed his mind, but it was as if he had been avoiding them on some subconscious level, despite his knowledge that they were the most common terms. He nodded mutely, feeling both disturbed and exhilarated that she had read him so accurately.

"Partners?" she suggested. "It's a neutral enough word that covers a whole range of options. And you're right: 'girlfriend' and 'boyfriend' are too simplistic for what I suspect is going to be a very complicated relationship."

Sherlock considered it. He could work with that, he decided. He could actually picture himself introducing her to someone as "my partner, Seona" where he couldn't imagine ever saying "my girlfriend". He shifted forward slightly to press a lingering kiss against her lips, somehow relieved when she relaxed into it. "Partners," he agreed as he pulled back.

Her answering smile was worth any complications this would introduce to his life.


	6. Morning After

**Disclaimer:**If you recognise it, it was probably created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC's talented Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**Author's note:** Okay, a couple of things. First of all, sorry for not updating this in months. Got beset by illness, then overtime, then international travel (including going on a wonderful Sherlock Holmes walking tour in London!), all of which rather sapped both time and muse.

Secondly, this is the concluding chapter of this fic, but not the story of Sherlock and Seona's relationship. I have some other ideas to explore, but they called for different viewpoints and since this fic has been exclusively from Sherlock's viewpoint it didn't sit well with me to just tack them on here. So keep an eye out in coming weeks (hopefully) for new stories. Assuming it goes to plan, the next one will involve Mycroft.

Lastly, I also have an idea for a new project. It will be "original series" Sherlock – based off ACD's marvellous work rather than the TV series – but it comes with a request. I have a first idea of the opening act that brings Holmes and Watson into the case. I have a reasonably good idea of what the resolution should be. What I've discovered, however, is that I suck at writing mysteries. The whole laying out the clues and figuring out the logical steps from one to the other just isn't working well for me. So I'm hoping for someone to be willing to act as creative consultant for that aspect of things. If you can help me get a good mystery nailed down you'll get credits in the fic and virtual brownie points (which can later be traded in for virtual brownies) and the lovely warm feeling of knowing you're amazing. So any takers?

Finally, sorry this author's note has gone on for so long. On with the story!

* * *

John was already in the kitchen making toast when Sherlock wandered out. Seona had gone to have a shower, claiming that if she was going to have to wear the same clothes as yesterday she could at least be clean first. This suddenly posed a problem for the detective, as for the first time he was uncomfortable to find himself alone with John. What should he say? What _could _he say? They hadn't exactly tried to keep their voices down the previous night, so the chances of John not knowing what had taken place were slim. He knew from the brief not-quite-a-conversation in the middle of the night that John didn't disapprove of the two of them as... as partners, but what did one say to one's flatmate after a night like that? The only thing that floated through Sherlock's mind was "Sorry about the noise", and even he knew that probably wasn't appropriate.

Unexpectedly, John solved the dilemma by asking, "Did you ask her if she wanted a cup of tea?" Sherlock shook his head mutely. The doctor shrugged. "Never mind. There's water in the kettle if she wants some when she's out. How about you? Tea?"

"Thank you." Sherlock lowered himself into a chair and watched his friend potter about the kitchen. He was still uncertain, which was an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling for him, although it was a good sign that John seemed to have accepted her continued presence in their flat without question.

John handed him a mug, then sank into the chair opposite and rested his elbows on the table. "Is everything okay between you two?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "I mean, I assumed things were going well when I heard..." The older man cut off that sentence abruptly, his cheeks flushing as he realised where that sentence was headed.

Oddly, it was easier for Sherlock to find the words now that John was feeling uncomfortable too. He shook his head. "No, everything's fine. More than fine in fact." It was difficult to keep the grin from his face at the thought, and he saw that John relaxed at the sight. "I'm just not sure what I should say about it. To you, especially. I understand that it's usually expected for friends, especially flatmates, to..."

"No, Sherlock." John cut him off and reached over the table to give his arm a brief squeeze. "I'm certainly not going to expect the usual blokey talk from you. It's enough to know that you're happy, and that she's happy." He grinned and wrapped his hands around his own mug of tea before adding, "And with any luck this means you won't give me such a hard time when I want to spend time with Sarah."

Sherlock snorted. "I only give you a hard time, as you put it, when there's something more interesting or constructive you could be doing."

John nodded solemnly, although he was obviously fighting to keep the smile from his face. "Interesting and constructive. Of course. Like coming back here to send a text for you because you can't be bothered getting out of your chair to look up the number. Or going shopping because you don't even know what the inside of Tesco's looks like. And let's not forget providing you with diversion because you're between cases and bored." The two men locked eyes across the table for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Yes, yes, all right." Sherlock waved his hand as if to brush the comments aside. "And I suppose you think that it's a matter of perspective as to whether those things are more interesting or constructive than you going out for dinner with Sarah." John grinned and nodded emphatically. The detective heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I can't promise anything, mind."

"Of course. Wouldn't expect anything less." John was still grinning. After a moment, though, his expression eased to one of curiosity. "Do you remember the conversation we had that first night? In Angelo's before we went racing off after the cab?"

The detective nodded, his lips twitching as he followed the line of questioning to its obvious conclusion. "When you asked me if I had a girlfriend and I told you it wasn't my area," he concluded.

Now it was John's turn to nod. "And then when I asked if you had a boyfriend you just said no. So I assumed..."

"I know what you assumed. I was content to let you assume it. It was easier than having to go through a conversation about the real situation." Sherlock sat back and regarded John with a wry smile. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for most people to believe that a man isn't so much not interested in women as not interested in anyone? Which I wasn't. When I said 'not really my area' I was speaking of... intimate relationships. Not one gender or the other specifically."

John cocked his head to one side as he considered this. "You're right," he said at last. "I don't think I would have understood that. Not then. After knowing you for a year I can believe it though. Which of course leaves the obvious question: what's changed?"

Sherlock took a breath to reply but let it out in a long sigh instead. "I don't know. I don't understand any of this." His sipped meditatively at his tea for a few moments, then asked, "What was it like when you met Sarah?"

A tender smile stole over John's face and Sherlock was a little surprised to find it didn't annoy him as much as it usually did. "It's difficult to explain," the doctor began. "It wasn't anything particularly conscious. Just a feeling of connection, if that makes sense. A feeling that here was someone I wanted to get to know better. The observation that I found her physically attractive didn't hurt either I guess. Then as I did get to know her I found I liked so many things about her besides her looks. She was smart, and funny, and genuinely warm and caring, which is surprisingly rare in doctors these days. And she seemed to like the same sort of things about me."

As John's words trailed off, Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. It turned into a small smile a moment later as he realised this was one of John's unconscious habits. "That sounds very... gentle." He shook his head. "I don't think that really describes my experience."

John snorted. "Doesn't surprise me. You're not usually given to paying attention to emotions. For you to have not only noticed but acted, it must have hit you like a tonne of bricks!"

Sherlock managed to glare at him for exactly five seconds before they both dissolved into giggles again. The laughter drained away the last of his worry. It didn't matter if he couldn't figure it out right now. He had time.


End file.
